Town and Country; Or, Life at Home and Abroad Part 21

"I write to you because I have nothing to do; I end my letter because I have nothing to say."

But these are left far in the rear by the correspondence of two Quakers, the one living in Edinburgh, the other in London. The former, wishing to know whether there was anything new in London, wrote in the corner of a letter-sheet a small interrogation note, and sent it to his friend. In due time he received an answer. He opened the sheet and found, simply, O, signifying that there was none.

In the London Times of January 3d, 1820, is the following, purporting to be a copy of a letter sent to a medical gentleman:

"CER: Yole oblige me uf yole k.u.m un ce me. I hev a Bad kowld, am Hill in my Bow Hills, and hev lost my Happy Tight."

William Cowper, the poet, being on very familiar terms with the Rev.

Mr. Newton, amused himself and his friend with a letter, of which the following is a copy:

"MY VERY DEAR FRIEND: I am going to send, what, when you have read, you may scratch your head, and say, I suppose, there's n.o.body knows, whether what I have got be verse or not; by the tune and the time, it ought to be rhyme; but if it be, did you ever see, of late or of yore, such a ditty before?

"I have writ Charity, not for popularity, but as well as I could, in hopes to do good; and if the reviewers should say, 'To be sure the gentleman's muse wears methodist shoes, you may know by her pace, and talk about grace, that she and her bard have little regard for the taste and fashions, and ruling pa.s.sions, and hoydening play, of the modern day; and though she a.s.sume a borrowed plume, and now and then wear a t.i.ttering air, 't is only her plan to catch, if she can, the giddy and gay, as they go that way, by a production on a new construction; she has baited her trap, in hopes to snap all that may come, with a sugar-plum.' His opinion in this will not be amiss; 't is what I intend my princ.i.p.al end; and if I succeed, and folks should read, till a few are brought to a serious thought, I shall think I am paid for all I have said, and all I have done, though I have run, many a time, after rhyme, as far as from hence, to the end of my sense, and, by hook or crook, write another book, if I live and am here, another year.

"I heard before of a room, with a floor laid upon springs, and such like things, with so much art, in every part, that when you went in, you was forced to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a grace, swimming about, now in and now out, with a deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or string, or any such thing; and now I have writ, in a rhyming fit, what will make you dance, and, as you advance, will keep you still, though against your will, dancing away, alert and gay, till you come to an end of what I have penned; which that you may do ere madam and you are quite worn out with jigging about, I take my leave; and here you receive a bow profound, down to the ground, from your humble me,

"W. C."

At one of those famous coteries, so fashionable in the time of George Selwyn, Selwyn declared that a lady never closed a letter without a postscript. One of his fair auditors defended her s.e.x by saying that her next letter should prove he was wrong. Soon after, Selwyn received a letter from the lady, in which, after the name, was "P. S. Who is right now, you or I?"

"We have met the enemy, and they are ours" is an example for naval letters. Commodore Walton's letter, by which he gave information of his capture of a number of Spanish vessels of war, was as follows:

"We have taken or destroyed all the enemy's ships or vessels on the coast, as per margin."

General Taylor's letters are of the same cla.s.s,--brief and to the point.

As a specimen of ultra-familiarity, see the Duke of Buckingham's letter to King James the First, which he commences as follows:

"DEAR DAD AND GOSSIP,"

and concludes thus:--

"Your Majesty's most humble slave and dog,

"STINIE."

Some letters have been distinguished for a play upon words. The following is supposed to have been written by one Zebel Rock, a stone-cutter, to a young lady for whom he cherished a love somewhat more than Platonic:

"DIVINE FLINT: Were you not harder than Porphyry or Agate, the Chisel of my love, drove by the Mallet of my fidelity, would have made some impression on thee. I, that have shaped as I pleased the most untoward of substances, hoped by the Compa.s.s of reason, the Plummet of discretion, the Saw of constancy, the soft File of kindness, and the Polish of good words, to have modelled you into one of the prettiest Statues in the world; but, alas! I find you are a Flint, that strikes fire, and sets my soul in a blaze, though your heart is as cold as marble. Pity my case, pray, madam, for I know not what I say or do. If I go to make a Dragon, I strike out a Cupid; instead of an Apothecary's Mortar, I make a Church Font for Baptism; and, dear Pillar of my hopes, Pedestal of my comfort, and Cornice of my joy, take compa.s.sion upon me, for upon your pity I build all my hope, and will, if fortunate, erect Statues, Obelisks and Pyramids, to your generosity."

As a specimen of alliteration the following may be considered a fair off-hand epistle of love:

"ADORED AND ANGELIC AMELIA: Accept An Ardent And Artless Amorist's Affections; Alleviate An Anguished Admirer's Alarms, And Answer An Amorous Applicant's Avowed Ardor. Ah, Amelia! All Appears An Awful Aspect; Ambition, Avarice, And Arrogance, Alas, Are Attractive Allurements, And Abuse An Ardent Attachment. Appease An Aching And Affectionate Adorer's Alarms, And Anon Acknowledge Affianced Albert's Alliance As Agreeable And Acceptable. Anxiously Awaiting An Affectionate And Affirmative Answer, Accept An Ardent Admirer's Aching Adieu. ALBERT."

The custom of espionage among some nations, which led the government officials' to open all letters supposed to contain matters at variance with the plans and purposes of their masters, induced the inventive to contrive various means of correspondence.

One of the most singular of these was that adopted by Histaus, the Milesian, as related by Herodotus. Histaus was "kept by Darius at Susa, under an honorable pretence, and, despairing of his return home, unless he could find out some way that he might be sent to sea, he purposed to send to Aristagoras, who was his subst.i.tute at Miletum, to persuade his revolt from Darius; but, knowing that all pa.s.sages were stopped and studiously watched, he took this course: he got a trusty servant of his, the hair of whose head he caused to be shaved off, and then, upon his bald head, he wrote his mind to Aristagoras; kept him privately about him, till his hair was somewhat grown, and then bid him haste to Aristagoras, and bid him cause him to be shaved again, and then upon his head he should find what his lord had written to him."

A volume might be written of the Curiosities of Letter-writing, and it would be by no means an uninteresting production. Years ago, when New England missionaries first taught the wild men of the South Sea Islands, it so happened that one of the teachers wished to communicate with a friend, and having no pen, ink and paper at hand, he picked up a chip and wrote with a pencil his message. A native conveyed it, and, receiving some article in return, he thought the chip endowed with some miraculous power, and could he have obtained it would doubtless have treasured it as a G.o.d, and worshipped it.

And so would seem to us this invaluable art of letter-writing, were we in like ignorance. We forget to justly appreciate a blessing while we have it in constant use; but let us be for a short time deprived of it, and then we lament its loss and realize its worth.

Deprive mankind of pen, ink and paper, obliterate from the human mind all knowledge of letter-writing,--then estimate, if you can, thee loss that would accrue.

The good resulting from a general intercommunication of thought among the people has brought about a great reduction in the rates of postage. We look forward to the time when the tens of millions now expended in war, and invested in the ammunition of death, shall be directed into other channels, and postage shall be free. What better defence for our nation than education? It is better than forts and vessels of war; better than murderous guns, powder and ball. Hail to the day when there shall be no direct tax on the means of education!

A VISION OF REALITY.

I HAD a dream: Methought one came And bade me with him go; I followed, till, above the world, I wondering gazed below.

One moment, horror filled my breast; Then, shrinking from the sight, I turned aside, and sought for rest, Half dying with affright.

My guide with zeal still urged me on; "See, see!" said he, "what sin hath done; How mad ambition fills each breast, And mortals spurn their needed rest, And all their lives and fortunes spend To gain some darling, wished-for end; And scarce they see the long-sought prize, When each to grasp it fails and dies."

Once more I looked: in a lonely room, On a pallet of straw, were lying A mother and child; no friends were near, Yet that mother and child were dying.

A sigh arose; she looked above, And she breathed forth, "I forgive;"

She kissed her child, threw back her head, And the mother ceased to live.

The child's blue eyes were raised to watch Its mother's smile of love; She was not there,--her child she saw From her spirit-home above.

An hour pa.s.sed by: that child had gone From earth and all its harms; Yet, as in sleep, it nestling lay In its dead mother's arms.

I asked my guide, "What doth this mean?"

He spake not a word, but changed the scene.

I stood where the busy throng Was hurrying by; all seemed intent, As on some weighty mission sent; And, as I asked what all this meant, A drunkard pa.s.sd by.

He spake,--I listened; thus spake he: "Rum, thou hast been a curse to me; My wife is dead,--my darling child, Who, when 't was born, so sweetly smiled, And seemed to ask, in speechless prayer, A father's love, a father's care,-- He, he, too, now is gone!

How can I any longer live?

What joy to me can earth now give?

I've drank full deep from sorrow's cup,-- When shall I drink its last dregs up?

When will the last, last pang be felt?

When the last blow on me be dealt?

Would I had ne'er been born!"

As thus he spake, a gilded coach In splendor pa.s.sd by; And from within a man looked forth,-- The drunkard caught his eye.

Then, with a wild and frenzied look, He, trembling, to it ran; He stayed the rich man's carriage there, And said, "Thou art the man!

"Yes, thou the man! You bade me come, You took my gold, you gave me rum; You bade me in the gutter lie, My wife and child you caused to die; You took their bread,--'t was justly theirs; You, cunning, laid round me your snares, Till I fell in them; then you crushed, And robbed me, as my cries you hushed; You've bound me close in misery's thrall; Now, take a drunkard's curse and fall!"

A moment pa.s.sed, and all was o'er,-- He who'd sold rum would sell no more And Justice seemed on earth to dwell, When by his victim's hand he fell.

Yet, when the trial came, she fled, And Law would have the avenger dead.

The gilded coach may rattle by, Men too may drink, and drunkards die, And widows' tears may daily fall, And orphans' voices daily call,-- Yet these are all in vain; The dealer sells, and gla.s.s by gla.s.s He tempts the man to ruin pa.s.s, And piles on high his slain.

His fellows fall by scores,--what then?

He, being rich (though rich by fraud), Is honored by his fellow-men, Who bend the knee and call him "lord."

Again I turned;

Enough I'd learned Of all the misery sin hath brought; I strove to leave the fearful spot, And wished the scene might be forgot, 'T was so with terror fraught.

I wished to go,

No more to know.